


201 - The Ride (is About You)

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 20:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17392787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “reader and van have been friends since forever and are secretly in love with each other but both think it’s platonic. and when a new catfish album is out she gets a copy and sees her name’s on the credits and as she listens to it realises it’s bcause van had quoted her on most songs and has flashbacks to the moments she said those things and fluff and love?”Note: I’m going to set this fic as The Ride was released, and use lyrics from that. It will be easier that way. I won’t have to make up lyrics and pretend they’re as good as what Van could write. Lol.





	201 - The Ride (is About You)

Van made you promise you'd not listen to the second record until you had a physical copy in your hands. It arrived by mail with a note from him. It said, 'thank you' and was signed off with an uneven love heart. 

Van had been your friend since you were a kid. Families living side by side for years, you'd grown up together. Van was one of your best friends. He knew you like nobody else and you knew him. There was hardly a thing about you that he was unaware of. The obvious exception to that was your ever-growing and very not platonic love for him. You'd been deeply and painfully in love with Van for as long as you breathed air. By the time you figured it out though, he was already dating people and taking on the world with Catfish. You resigned to your fate of loving him while he loved everyone else.

There wasn't a CD player in your flat, so you pulled a hoodie on and padded out to your car in pyjama pants and ugg boots. In the front seat, you put the disk in and laid back in the chair.

…

7

You were there with Van when he first moved in with Larry. When the boxes were all inside, but still left unpacked, he collapsed on the couch next to you and pulled you under his arm. He called out for Larry, who appeared in the doorway.

"Call a load of smoke in, mate. Just wanna lose a couple'a days," he said.

The rest of the night was a blur of weed and blankets and very, very slow unpacking. You kept pressing Van to talk about the breakup, but he seemed unconcerned. The distance between her and him put an end to the romance, and he had already moved on. Larry joked about Van's inability to factor in time zone differences.

"Never do think things through much," you said, watching Van tip a box of utensils and pots and pans onto the kitchen floor. It made a horrible, loud sound and you cringed.

…

Twice

"What do you think the worse thing about him is?" you asked Larry. You were sitting side by side on the grass outside, watching Van talk to people at the party. His hands were flying through the air.

"Sometimes he gets so drunk that his hangovers last for days," he answered.

"That's… That's not a bad thing? Um. I feel like he could have treated some of his girlfriends better. Put them before the band maybe? At least called them more?" you tried. Larry half shrugged.

"Yeah, maybe. But he'd always kind of let them win that argument though. Like, the amount of fuckin' times I've overheard him just go 'yeah, yeah, you're right,' type of thing,"

"So… the worse thing about Van is that he cares about his band and is not verbally violent? What the fuck," you whispered. Larry laughed.

"He should wash his hair more," he said.

"Oh, yeah. Yep. Sometimes it annoys me that he doesn't care more about politics and stuff," you added.

Like he could tell you were talking about him, Van looked over at his two best friends and titled his head. You waved and it was an invitation. He came over and threw himself on the grass in front of you, lighting a cigarette.

"Whatcha' talkin' 'bout?"

"How shit you are," you replied. Larry snorted.

"Oh yeah? Got a list going?"

"Yes, actually. Bad hangovers. Mean to girls. Don't argue proper," you told him.

Later, when you'd passed out somewhere and Van and Larry carried you to one of their rooms and tucked you in, Larry would tell Van about the list in more detail and laugh at how neither of you could find real fault in him. Van, being Van, added a lot to the list. Everyone's worst critic is themselves.

"You're just going to have to accept that she loves you," Larry laughed, walking away and leaving Van to watch over your sleeping frame.

…

Soundcheck

"No. Wake Larry up," you croaked into the phone. Van's voice was barely even a whisper.

"He'll kill me,"

"I'm going to kill you. Fuck off,"

"Well, it's too late. I'm downstairs. Don't even have to change. Wear your pyjamas," he said and hung up.

You groaned dramatically and checked the time again to confirm it was almost two in the morning. Van had called, restless and awake, begging for company.

Downstairs you curled up in the front seat of his car and refused to say thank you when he gave you his jacket as a blanket. You rolled in and out of sleep, only waking when he went through a drive-through for fries and when he stopped for smokes whenever there was a pretty stretch of road with a view.

Van tapped on the window.

"Babe? Come on. It's not that cold out here," he said. You looked up at him with a frown. He grinned. You opened the door and he looked smug. It wasn't his words that you were chasing out the car, but his dimples.

He hugged you close and you breathed out the same toxic smoke while watching the twinkling lights of the city remind you of the big, wide world.

"So different from home," he said.

"Yeah. Made good, haven't you?"

He laughed and nodded. His appreciation and yours for everything you had was a shared experience that few people would ever understand about you.

…

Postpone

By the time you stopped crying your eyes were red and puffy. Van kissed your head while Larry brought you a cup of tea. You laid on Larry's bed and tried to calm down. Eventually, you could talk. You spilt it all out, the ex-boyfriend, the dead-end job, the growing feeling that you were wasting your life. Of course, any life in comparison to theirs was going to seem boring and mediocre. It was one of the few things about Catfish's existence that Van didn't like.

"It's okay, Y/N," Van said, pulling you into his lap. "We'll always be here for you,"

"Yeah. Always got us when everything else goes to shit, yeah?" Larry added. "You gotta stop tryin' to make everyone happy though. It's gonna kill you."

Not all breakdowns are good things. Some though, are. Out of the rubble, new things can be rebuilt, and rebuild you did. A better life was born in that moment.

…

Anything

"Oh, ya think you don't need me now 'cause everything's going good, huh? Only need me when things are bad?" Van asked with a grin, poking your sides. He was home from tour and annoyed that you'd not called him as much as you should have. You pushed his hands away. "Admit it, Y/N, you neeeeeeeeed meeeeee,"

"For what?" you asked back, drinking more wine. You weren't as drunk as Van, but you were still too drunk.

"I don't know. Everything. Anything,"

"That don't make sense. 'Sides. I don't need anyone. I'm innnnndeeeeepeeeendent!" you said, pinching his cheek. He let you touch.

"Nah. You say that but I reckon you'd be a super clingy girlfriend," he joked.

"Fuck you. Nah-ah, I would not. If anythin' I'd be annoyingly distant."

Van laughed, then nodded. "Yeah, actually. Fits. Like, you'd get pissed if I called you at work," he said. Why was he suddenly part of the hypothetical relationship? "And try to make me quit smokin' all the time,"

"I do that now,"

"Yeah. But if you were my girlfriend, might have to actually listen,"

"Should fuckin' listen now," you mumbled. "Oh! I'd totally like, say I wouldn't give you any babies if you pissed me off,"

"Tell me all my baby names are shit," he agreed with a nod. You laughed. "But you'd need me. Even with all that, you'd need me."

Even with all that. Even as it was, platonic, friends, you needed him.

The wine continued to be poured, and the bar stools you were on seemed to grow higher and higher off the ground until it was impossible to balance on them. You stumbled home together and passed out on top of each other on the couch.

…

Glasgow

"Van? Hey, sorry to wake you. It's Y/N... she’s...," you vaguely heard your friend say. A street name, a newly ex-boyfriend's name, a thank you.

Van crouched on the ground in front of where you were sitting against the pub wall.

"Hey, babe. Bit of a mess, hey?"

You tried to focus. He was in jeans, but the hoodie he was in told you he was probably in bed when she called him. She helped Van get you back to his car.

"Mm'sorry," you mumbled as you watched him turn the heater up to its highest setting.

"You're alright, Y/N. You're better off without him. Let's just get you home, yeah?"

…

Oxygen

The more force you pushed off the bed with, the closer to the ceiling you got. You could almost touch the glow in the dark stars stuck to the roof.

"Y/N. Ya gonna fuckin' break your bed," Van said. He was sitting against the headboard, legs pulled in so they'd not be crushed by your jumping. "Not a fuckin' trampoline,"

"It's fine," you said between heavy breaths.

"Do you got any weed?" he asked, shaking his head and opening your bedside table drawer. He knew where the stash was. You continued to bounce as you watched him pack the pipe. He exhaled and looked up at you.

"Thought you were just stopping by for a second?" you asked, slowing down.

"Fuckin' joke. Always lose whole fuckin' days when I'm here," he replied, melting in the bed.

You crashed down next to him, taking the pipe. "It's night. You lose nights here," you corrected him, then sucked in. Van looked at you concerned.

"Wanna fuckin' catch your breath before you do that? Get a little fuckin' oxygen?"

"Oxygen's overrated, Van. Don't need to breathe," you replied after looking up at the starry ceiling and exhaling hard.

…

Emily

"Say hey to Em for me. Give her a hug," you said to Van as you let him go from his own hug. He nodded. "I think you need this,"

"Me too. Just… feel all stuck in my 'ead or whatever," he replied.

"Yeah. Go. Let New York drag you back into reality. I'll see you when you get back."

You watched him drive off down the road through your open bedroom window.

…

Red

"Why are you being such a fucking cunt?" you yelled at Van.

"Me?! Are you fucking kidding me? I'm looking out for you!" he yelled back.

There had only been a handful of times that you'd fought with Van, and few of those had ever been serious.

"You're acting like a jealous baby,"

"Jealous baby? Fuck, Y/N. He's… Are you actually happy? He treats you like shit. And jealous! Me? Where are them balloons I got you? What'd he do when he saw them? Jesus fucking Christ. He's horrible and you deserve better."

There was a wildness in Van's eyes that you'd never seen, and as fucked up as it was, a part of you was sitting all smug and happy that he was so clearly jealous. Maybe it meant he loved you like you loved him. As the fight subsided and you hugged it out, Van nuzzled into the crook of your neck, asking if you were still friends. If you still loved him the same.

…

Heathrow

"I hate this fuckin' airport," Van complained as he weaved through crowds of people. You followed along, happy that he'd come to collect you at all. "Nobody knows where they're fuckin' going,"

"I can go get my bags. You just go have a smoke and wait at the car," you offered. He looked back with a frown, then shook his head.

Finally on the road, Van skipped your house and headed straight to his. You’d spend the night catching up with him and Larry in the kitchen, listening to The National.

…

Outside

There was an overlap of flights. Van got home when you left. So, when you finally returned, you'd not seen each other in ages. The longest you'd been without your best friend. A welcome home party was spent mostly behind the closed door of your bedroom. 

The walls were thin and you both listened to the people outside. There was a couple fighting; the girl screamed that the boy never listened to her, that nothing she said would get through to him. Fragments of conversations drifted in through your own bedroom window. "Oh my God! I remember that! I basically carried you through the middle of town!" and "Dude, you got lipstick on ya fuckin' cheek" and someone pulling up out front to collect their sister, then an argument about that too.

"I missed you," Van said from where he was sprawled out across the bottom half of your bed.

"I missed you too. Thanks for coming; know these things aren't really your thing,"

"You begged so nicely," he replied with a grin.

"Do you want to stay over?" you asked, letting that boundary be pushed a little bit more in the same game that you'd been playing with Van for years. He nodded and reached out for your hand.

…

When the final song stopped out of nowhere and the CD automatically started to replay after only a few beats of silence, you felt like you were going to throw up. You paused the track and carefully pulled the booklet from the plastic case. Like the first album, each page was filled with messy handwritten lyrics. You liked the photo of the guys. The final page was for credits and thank yous. 'The Ride written by Van McCann and Y/N.' 

Each song was a snapshot from your life, and many of the words sung were certainly ones you'd said in the same order, but it was too much to be credited like that. A list of people they were indebted to, then a dedication. 'All songs written for Bernard, Mary and Jerry McCann. This record is for Y/N, love of my life.'

Your body went into shock and your mind went into autopilot; have a cup of tea and sleep on it. You climbed from your car and walked up through the internal stairwell of your apartment building. Turning the corner onto your floor, you spotted Van before he saw you, ugg boots quiet on the floor. He only looked up when you took another step closer, your movement registering in his peripheral vision.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" he asked, waiting for you to come and unlock the door. You moved slowly, unsure of how to act.

"It's… inside,"

"Okay. Where were you?"

"In my car," you answered, walking in and making a beeline for the kettle.

"What were you doing in there?" You turned around and looked at Van. He jumped onto the kitchen counter and picked a banana from the fruit bowl and started to peel it. He glanced up at the same time as taking a bite. He stopped, realising you were in a mood. He chewed, swallowed, then spoke. "Y/N?"

You'd left the CD and the packaging it came in down in the car. Never great with timing, he'd obviously not considered when it would arrive.

"I… I was listening to the album." He put the banana down and slid off the bench, but stayed with his back pressed against it. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"It ain't plagiarism if you credit the person," he said. "You taught me that… What did you think? It's good right? Way better than the first record. It's like… the band that wrote that one is the opening act for this one, you know what I mean?"

He liked you. No, he loved you. He was as in love with you as you were with him, and he always had been. Did he still think it was a one way thing, though? Surely fucking not.

"Van…" you whispered.

He sighed and nodded. "I know… Should've given you a heads up or something? Larry said it was a lot, and like, if you didn't… whatever… then I'd be stuck with that. It's all gone to print and stuff, so I can't take it back…"

"Why… why would you want to?"

"Be dead embarrassing to write a record for a girl and not have her want you back, you know? People gonna ask about you, about all the songs… If the story had a bad ending, that would be… bit less than good," he explained, watching you closely. Van was always an intense communicator, he stood close and made more eye contact than what the average person was used to. It was one of the things you loved about him, but in moments like that, when you needed space to think and process, the gaze of his brilliant blue eyes felt like needles.

"It doesn’t… It won't… 'cause I do…" you said, the words all relating to key points in your head but coming out a mess of mismatched answers to questions not explicitly asked. Van looked confused.

"You do…?”

"Want you back."

He visibly relaxed. Arms unfolding. Breathing out. Shoulders rolling back. Van made a strange little chucking sound to himself, then he picked up his banana and started to eat it again, nodding. You waited for him to do or say something to make the same relief wash through you. That was probably the aim of the album though.

"So… What happens now?" you asked. He shrugged and continued to demolish the fruit.

"Well," he started, mouth full of yellow mush. "Guess we try the whole dating thing. Pretty much what we are now, yeah? But… you know," he grinned after swallowing. "More fun stuff."

Van's words were as authentic as the rest of him. He winked and walked to stand beside you. Bumping you out of the way with his hip, he started to make tea for two.

"But you did actually like the record, yeah?"


End file.
